


Not Even Death Will Part Us

by ACatWhoWrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur brings his love back to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even Death Will Part Us

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from what_the_fruk: Anything with either England as a necromancer or necrophiliac, or possibly both.
> 
> A necromancer is an individual who reanimates the dead. A necrophiliac is an individual who has sexual desires for corpses or simply an obsessive fascination with death and corpses.

He doesn't think about how immoral or plain wrong it is; he just does it. Arthur works day and night for weeks, preparing spells and researching various sciences to bring back the departed soul of his beloved Francis. Tonight is the night he finally completes his work. If all goes well, the hole in his heart will be filled again, and he will once again know happiness.

The wind begins to scream through the shuttered windows, fillings the spaces among his beakers, burners, and books with tortured moaning. Light emanates from where there is no light source, casting unnatural shadows that spread like oil down the walls and across the floor. Beneath the table, tendrils of the inky blackness sprout from the edges of the shadowy pool and reach over the prone corpse. Arthur feels the shadow looking over every centimetre of the body, seeing who it is and searching for its lost vitality.

Then they know. They reach into the depths; they call for a soul—the one soul among numerous others that once resided in this particular shell.

Arthur's excitement grows with each passing moment. Soul searching feels as though it takes hours, weeks even, but it is a mere couple of minutes. He never once breaks his guttural mantra, lowly calling the Searcher's shadows from the unseen dimension of souls to finish their work and bring Francis back.

In the old shack on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland, where Victor Frankenstein attempted to create a companion for his creation, Arthur is going to succeed. He grins giddily, green eyes bright with anticipation.

The shadows pull back the stiff eyelids of the body and press into the sightless sockets. Arthur hears their whispers in a long-dead and greatly unheard of language. They discuss where to go, what must be done, and slither around the eyeballs. The Searcher guides them through the optic nerve to the brain, down the brain stem and spine and expand throughout the trunk and into every limb and muscle of the body. The shadow fills the body, and whispers a familiar name.

Arthur visibly shakes, but it goes unnoticed. The temperature in the shack drops severely as the shadows rapidly fade to grey, the changing colour spreading like ink in water down the walls to the table. Grey shadows pool faster around and into the body, lightening to a pure white.

Blanch yet brilliant as freshly fallen snow, the shadow is absorbed completely as if the body were a sponge and the shadow merely water. It picked up all of the alabaster matter, sucking it down the walls, across the floor, and up into the body on the table.

The ethereal lights fade along with Arthur's chant, and the body convulses.

It smiles, its eyes wrinkling at the edges. Arthur leans over the table, glancing up and down its body, a smile slowly growing on his own lips. He did it. “Hello, love.” The shadow fades from Francis' eyes, leaving them the same blue as the coastal sky of France.

“Bonjour, mon cher.” Alive once again, Francis sits up and kisses Arthur, sending a feeling down his spine he thought had died when Francis did. “It's good to be back.”


End file.
